The Fable of the Four Philanthropists

Once upon a time, there was a small town besieged by war. Invading marauders eventually captured the land, built a prison in middle of the town square, and imprisoned all the warrior men of the community. And every day citizens would see their sons and fathers suffering behind bars in the middle of the town square. Unable to bear it any longer, 4 philanthropists got together and decided to make an offering of peace. 

The first philanthropist went to the jailer and said that he had a lot of money and couldn't stand to see the prisoners without fresh water. He begged for mercy so that he could spend all his money to buy fresh water for the prisoners to drink. The invaders allowed it and the philanthropist felt at peace with his offering. 

The second philanthropist went to the jailer and said he had a lot of livestock and couldn't stand to see the prisoners sleeping on rocks and dirt. He begged the jailer to be allowed to use his sheep and animal skins to make beds and pillows for the prisoners. The invaders allowed this gift and the philanthropist felt at peace. 

The third philanthropist went to the jailer and said he had a very large farm and he couldn't stand to see prisoners eating so poorly that many were malnourished. He begged the jailer to be allowed to bring all his food from the farm and make meals for the prisoners. The invaders allowed this gift and philanthropist felt at peace. 

The fourth philanthropist had neither farm, nor livestock, nor money. He was very poor. But he was a saint. So for his gift he did what any saint would do: he stole the jailer's keys, snuck back to the jail at night, and released all the prisoners. And he felt at peace with this offering. 


I listened to this story on a Wayne Dyer CD as I drove through Miami. I thought about the offering of comfort. It is nice to have good food in the prison of this life, good clothes, and luxurious sleep while inside the prison. But how much better it would be to just leave the prison. It's a frightening proposition because we've been told that we are born into the jail cell of this body and the only way we leave it is through death.

Many spiritualities promise salvation after death. Yet the esoteric branches of these same major religions hint at something else. From the Kabbalah sect within Judaism, to the Sufi mystics of Islam, to the Christian transcendentalist, as well as Hindu and Buddhist Tantric practitioners, they have all looked at this belief and said 'yes, but what if it was different? What if we didn't have to die to get out of the cell? What if this life is not synonymous with the prison? Then the prison we are trapped in must be something. And life can be lived in a different way and in freedom.

I wonder about the convergence of all these religions along with the science of quantum physics. It feels like these things have been predicted by the Dalai Lama as well as A Course in Miracles. It seems as if our society's are reaching a point where we're realizing that the attitude of 'wait until death' isn't good enough any more. And it would be criminal for me to waste time in this life consumed with ensuring basic comfort for myself and my family instead of learning how to leave this prison while in this life.

There are days when I am consumed by the first 3 philanthropists.  I just want the money, the comfort, feeding my ego with the thoughts of fame. There is nothing wrong with wanting comfort. I don't even think there's anything wrong with dreaming of reaching more people and having a good reputation. But only when that comfort can be used to achieve the clarity of the fourth philanthropist so that I can find the keys to freedom.

The Pause After Hurricane Sandy

Being a child of Florida, I'm used to storms that shut down the city and bring out the true nature of its citizens. I've been through numerous tropical storms, depressions, and several hurricanes of various strength. I've lived without power, taken 'hobo baths' in the sink, and waited for the rescue trucks. And all of life stops during these times.

Now that New York City has experienced its first hurricane ever, the city that never sleeps has been forced to stop, sit down, and wait.  Parts of Manhattan have sunk underwater, the flooded subways have been severely damaged, and the roads are filled with fallen trees. I was one of the fortunate ones living on high ground and with a strong grid. I never lost power or even Internet throughout the worst of the howling winds.

I've sat in the brown leather la-z boy chair in my Brooklyn apartment looking out the past three days. My time is spent in thought, meditation, checking Facebook, watching the news, planning out projects to keep myself busy. My front stoop view looks down the hill toward the sloping docks and swamped regions. When I first moved in to this place 7 years ago I always remarked on how unusual it was that you could see the Statue of Liberty and many of things on a clear day. As it turns out, I was moving into -by chance and luck- the highest point in Brooklyn and probably the most secure. The Con Edison power grid is 2 blocks away, ensuring that we're at the front of the line when it comes to electricity. And it's also a block away from stores of all sorts. If South Park Slope were cut off from the rest of Brooklyn, the community would continue to exist on its own for quite a while. There's a healthy mixture of youth, families, professionals, artists, and students. The people -like the land itself- seem to stand on their own. But I know that this appearance isn't the reality.

What has arisen in the silence are friends and neighbors stopping by and there's a shift in relationships. No longer are we rushing to jobs and worried about getting up in the morning to go to jobs and exciting projects. Nothing is happening. And it's in these situations when people start opening up. When everything slows to a halt. we're forced to take stock. And even though we have the appearance of 'life going on with all our surface amenities' life has surely stopped all over New York City.

I've gone over to my friend's places and there's the buzz in the air. It's as if we're both realizing how close we came to danger and are now loosening up. We've got a little bit less to lose and more to gain in being honest, in talking about faith, God, sharing stories, looking for ways to help out others.

All the local shelters are overflowing with donations and volunteers. The citizens are slowing down and putting their priorities in place. I've offered my space to friends without power and no one has taken me up on the offer because they're usually left with many luxurious choices. We've looked for places to give and have been turned away. It's a heartening sign of a society that knows deep down inside that these times are tragic and -in some way- necessary.

I don't mean to imply that we must suffer loss and see people die in order to live. What disasters do to us is something much more profound: they interrupt our daily routine and force us to see how we ARE NOT living. The stoppage of routine gets us to see how we're distracted, petty, thieving, jealous, power-obsessed for a large portion of our waking hours. We were never really living to begin with and this pause is another opportunity to choose again. Now most people will see the vacuum and panic. We're quick to fill a pause with frantic action and noise. The void is something to be avoided at all cost.  And I have come to see more and more that the void is here all the time. Even though I pretend it's not there and I mask it with pretty little jobs and relationships, the void exists in each one of my relationships and exchanges.

As A Course In Miracles would say, now is my chance to choose again. I have been presented with a glimmer of truth in the dark of night. I can go toward it or close my eyes and immerse myself back into the frenzy. Choose again and I can let that pause expand. Maybe God is in the pause.

As a self-described Buddhist (whatever that means) I love the gap in time. The surprises comes from the void. I have been introduced to more amazing, spiritual, and intuitively sophisticated people in my last few years than ever before. These people are of all faiths and non-faiths. And in the last few days I have made time for meaningful conversation. I have listened to people open their hearts to me. Maybe God is in their heart.

Hurricane Sandy has been tragic, chaotic, depressing, humbling and necessary. Maybe this is what it takes to open up that pause in time and in our hearts.

"A Separation": Modern Tragedy

I couldn't wait. Stereotype of the loud Black moviegoer be damned! I needed to get a million ideas out. As the movie credits rolled, they all came rushing out. 


My friend and I immediately launched into a heated debate/discussion/comparison of what we saw. The conversation spilled out into the hallway, up the stairs, out Lincoln Center Movies, and up the street for several blocks. The only reason we stopped talking was to look for a place to sit down so we could continue arguing about the movie. 


"A Separation" isn't just a seasonal movie, but one of the most powerful movies of this generation. The story isn't a drama or suspenseful in the usual ways. It's aim is a lot higher and it hits the mark most of the time. "A Separation" is a tragedy.